


Mischief Night

by TerraTenshi



Series: Trick or Treat - Halloween 2015 [22]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Nightmare, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerraTenshi/pseuds/TerraTenshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason/Tim treat for the prompt "someone falls into a trap they probably should have been able to avoid."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mischief Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Supernova95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernova95/gifts).



> Sequel to All Saint's Day

Jason opened the apartment door, shoving hard to get past the makeshift barrier that acted as a lock. He could already tell something was wrong. His brain hadn’t caught up with his senses yet though. It couldn’t process what was wrong, just that something was.

In the years after this moment he’d thought back on it often. Used the detective skills B was teaching him to try and figured out how he’d known something was wrong before he knew what was wrong. Before he even got inside the apartment.

The first thing was the sound. The sound was wrong. Superficially it was the same as always. Kids yelling, traffic, people playing music. Closer there was silence. Nothingness. He remembered B teaching him that it could be just as important to figure out what was missing as to see what was there.

Except... maybe it wasn’t missing? If he listened closely... he thought he could hear something. The stirring of air that signaled someone breathing softly as though in sleep. Or maybe it was the rustling of someone shifting on wrinkled sheets.

He shoved harder, wrenching the door open. 

His mom was standing at the table, she turned around holding a birthday cake. She was smiling, looking whole and strong.

His breath hitched and he coughed.

“Happy Birthday, Jason.” She was smiling but it was... creepy. Too wide and fake.

He coughed some more, unable to catch his breath. He could smell cigarettes.

“Wha-What’s-?” he couldn’t get it out, coughing too hard.

“What’s wrong, Jason? Is there something you don’t **understand**?” Her voice was different. He looked up through watering eyes and it was Sheila standing there.

The cake was covered in purple and green frosting and was rotting in her hands.

He could taste the Joker gas in the back of his throat. It tasted like blood and vomit.

“Aw, poor kiddo, getting sick. Just like mommy.”

Behind him there was a whimper. A familiar whimper. The whimper mom made when she hadn’t been able to afford a fix in a while and was going through withdrawal.

“Poor pathetic little druggie. Maybe we should just put her out of her misery.”

She was holding something... metallic. A crowbar? A gun?

“Let’s Boogey.” The voice was wrong now as well. Jason grabbed for her ankle as she tried to pass him, heading for the mattress under the window.

His fingers tangled in purple fabric and wrenched.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do to Uncle Joker, birdboy.” A voice snarled from above. He looked up in shock. It was still Sheila, sort of, but now her face was covered in white makeup and smeared red lipstick. She brought the gun down on him. He flinched and she kicked at him knocking him away.

He ended up sprawled against the edge of the ratty mattress, looking sideways at his mom’s helpless sprawl. Her eyes cracked open enough to look at him hazily. “Jason...”

“Mom, we have to get out of here.”

“Jason... Jason...”

He tried to scramble up but everything hurt and he couldn’t breathe. “Mom...”

Mom looked straight at him, awake and aware. Her eyes were so, so blue...

“Wake up.”

He gasped, struggling with the tangled sheets and almost fell off the bed before Tim grabbed him, yanking him back onto the bed.

“Jason, it’s okay, Jason.”

He pressed his face against the pillow, panting in a way that chasing criminals across rooftops never caused. Tim’s hand rubbed gently across his back.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head abortively. “It was my mom.”

“Sheila?”

“No.”

He could feel Tim hesitate. Then Tim laid down beside him, one arm still over him, hand against his back. “Tell me about her?”

He shuddered but nodded, pushing a little more into Tim’s space. “She was an addict, but she loved me.”


End file.
